associated in random thought

top of the world

another apple morning, with an orange on my desk. royal tenenbaums in my ears. elliott smith singing needle in the hay.

i spent my weekend behind the bar at starbucks, steaming milk for the masses. on saturday, i enjoyed myself. my hands were busy, my mind preoccupied with immediate tasks at hand. steam. rinse. brew. blend. serve. before long it was midnight and time to go to my friend ginger's birthday party.

it has been a long year for my dear ginger. we met in january, when i filled in shifts at a starbucks where she worked. we clicked immediately, but didn't begin to spend time together in earnest until marchish. around that time, ginger lost a love. previously, she'd lost a scooter--its engine exploded--her only means of transportation. by june, she was looking for work. and now? she's been asking the existential questions that can accompany turning thirtyfive (so i am told).

then. katrina came and took away parts of mississippi, where her family lives. i gave her a ride to the greyhound station, and she joined her parents and displaced relatives in waxahatchie, texas. ginger's presence proved to be quite instrumental, as she helped her family apply for FEMA aid, along with other computer-based tasks. they rallied altogether, and everything shifted for my friend: she felt blessed and loved and alive. she no longer feared thirtyfive.

and so she threw a party. friends came and came and came, all day and all night, to her efficiency apartment. helen and greg and i showed after midnight, and threw arms around ginger's neck. i'd never seen her smile so brightly. with such hope and joy. a dear friend named daniel surprised her with a new scooter. these are the kinds of friends that ginger attracts. a perfect night.

then.

the next day she got a phonecall. a friend had died. bradley is his name. circumstances are uncertain; his roommate simply found him lifeless in their apartment. he was supposed to have been at the party. ginger was, appropriately, thrown. with this tragedy, she is afraid of losing the ground she has gained over the past few weeks.

i read these words on her livejournal yesterday:
You are my Friend.
I miss you in ways I am still wrapping my head around.
But what I must not do, is go to pieces and not champion
everything that you left undone.

You waved your tragedy like a flag.

My flag is hope.
Sometimes it touches the ground,
when I try to fold it.

my dearest ginger. i knew she shouldn't be alone yesterday. so i found myself driving to her place, and lounging on her pulled-out futon with a cigarette, paging through scrapbooks of her coming-of-age in california, her arrival and subsequent takeover of austin, and the adventures in between. we laughed. she cried. we ate noodles with chopsticks. we kept each other company like a vigil.

why is september so tragic?

the grief of the month is more palpable under the increasingly diffuse sun.
it's the real story of shock and awe: burning buildings, cities underwater, displaced families sitting on my own street corner. a friend named bradley dead in his twenties without a reason. my father's dust underground for eight years now.

i suppose that we interpret this macrocosm of chaos through the lens of our own capacity to lose and grieve. we have to. otherwise, our heads would explode with the utter bigness of despair. and so, with the distinct memory of my own sting, i join my friend with arms able to enfold. and my heart knows her own.

compassion: to suffer along with.

the miracle came when ginger laughed.
the miracle came when i survived.

can this be enough to carry us through?

Posted by bananie at September 13, 2005 9:35 AM | TrackBack